St Augustine’s Hospital – by Sheila

I have been keeping up my exercise regime – trying to do something physical every day – and took a cycle ride through some country lanes around Canterbury.  I found myself riding through what used to be one of the former Kent County Asylums, St Augustine’s Hospital in Chartham.  It is now a modern housing estate, the old mental hospital having been closed, as so many were, in the early 1990s.

St Augustine's Hospital - Chartham
St Augustine’s Hospital – Chartham

I got to thinking about the many poor souls who had been shut away there in the past, often for very little reason at all.  Young girls were often “put away” because they were considered promiscuous and spent many years there.  However, since the closure of the hospitals, I am not so sure that society has done much better.  Now vulnerable people are often left to cope on their own, the only support available coming from charitable organisations such as Catching Lives, to which up to fifty people turn for help every day.

I then got to thinking about when I used to go to the old hospital to represent clients who were detained against their will.  I was a lawyer specialising in family and mental health problems.  I actually started doing mental health work because my predecessor had been hit by a client at St Augustines Hospital and refused to return there!  It was quite a scary place with enormously long corridors: I always walked around with a key or a pen in my hand in case someone jumped out at me, but happily no-one ever did.

However probably my scariest moment as a lawyer – I had quite a few now I think about it – does have a connection with the hospital.  I was in my office in Canterbury one afternoon and was phoned by the solicitor for Mr X.  I represented Mrs X in a dispute about their children.  Mr X’s solicitor said that Mr X had just been into their office and had said he was going to kill Mrs X – and had shown their receptionist the gun he intended to do it with!  The solicitor had phoned the Law Society to ask what he should do, and had been told that he would not be breaching client confidentiality if he phoned to warn me that they thought Mrs X was at serious risk.  It seemed that they were not required to do anything more than warn me: it was my responsibility to alert Mrs X, contact the Police etc. This was before the days of mobile phones, so I had no way of contacting Mrs X, but luck was on our side that day. Mrs X happened to have an appointment with me that afternoon, and she walked into my office about an hour later.  The Police came to pick her up, so she could be kept safe until Mr X and the gun were off the street.

I was not sure what had happened to Mr X until about three weeks later, when I was walking along one of these long corridors at St Augustine’s Hospital and he and I came face to face!  I don’t know who was more frightened – him or me.  We took one look at each other and rushed off in opposite directions.

Mrs X gave me a tiny glass vase, which I still have in my caravan: it is perfect for a little bunch of whatever flowers I find.  I hope her life has been less exciting since that time.

The cycle ride around the lanes and through the old grounds of the hospital takes about an hour.  It is a very beautiful area and I plan to incorporate that ride into my training regime during the next few months, in the lead up to the 3G assault on Kilimanjaro.

—– Note from Jae —–

Well Ma, you never mentioned the pen / key thing to me when I went to volunteer at St Augustine’s in the 1980s! I guess I must have been in a low security-level area, but I do remember long faceless corridors which were often filled with moans and shouts. Quite scary for a teenage girl, although I remember having lovely conversations with some of the patients who seemed very glad to have someone to natter to.